Marla’s POV
I went home, pretending like I wasn’t up to anything. The moment I arrived at our mansion, I was caught off guard. Waiting for me was my fiancé.
Jason. The man who would soon be my husband. The same man who was a cunning, unapologetic devil in disguise.
"Marla," he said, his voice low and sharp, slicing through the silence. "Where have you been? You’ve been avoiding me."
His gaze pinned me in place like a predator sizing up its prey. Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us, pulling me into a possessive embrace. His arms locked around me like chains, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His breath lingered against my skin, deliberate and invasive, as though claiming me as his own.
I stiffened, a knot forming in my throat. Forcing myself to play along, I returned his embrace. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but I couldn’t.
When he finally released me, his dark eyes bore into mine. I painted a bright smile on my face, masking the rage I was feeling inside.
"I just went to the mall," I said lightly. "Looking at jewelry for the wedding."
I hoped for a flicker of guilt, a sign that he might confess. But Jason was unreadable, his expression calm and calculated.
"You didn’t need to bother," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’ve already arranged everything. The finest jewelry money can buy, handpicked for you. I don’t leave things to chance, Marla. You should know that by now."
His arrogance was suffocating, yet undeniably commanding. He didn’t ask for gratitude—he demanded it, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Before I could respond, he seized my hand, his grip firm. "Come," he said, leading me toward the door. "We’re going to the farm. I have something to show you."
"Jason, I—"
"Don’t argue," he cut me off, his voice smooth but dangerous. "You’ll want to see this."
Reluctantly, I followed.
The drive was quiet, his presence heavy and impossible to ignore. When we arrived at the farm, the sight was almost overwhelming. Horses stood dressed in perfect gear, showing just how much Jason controlled every detail.
He strode ahead, his movements purposeful, and stopped near a stall. "Marla," he said, gesturing toward a chestnut-colored horse, "meet Chestnut. I bought him for you."
His tone carried no warmth, only a smug satisfaction that made my stomach churn. Jason wasn’t giving me a gift; he was reminding me of his power, his ability to control every aspect of my life.
Before I could respond, someone called out to him.
"Jason, is that you?"
We turned to see Dave and a few others approaching. Jason’s demeanor shifted.
"I didn’t see you there."
Their conversation turned to business, the details as ruthless as the man himself—profits, leverage, control. I barely listened, my attention drifting to Chestnut.
I leaned closer to the horse, whispering under my breath, "I want to kill that man."
My voice was low, but the venom in it was unmistakable. I watched Jason from afar, his commanding presence dominating the group, every word calculated to assert his dominance.
And then she arrived.
"Jason!"
Shane’s voice cut through the air, her approach a deliberate performance. Her laughter was too loud, her smile too bright, and the way she touched Jason made my blood boil.
Jason turned back to me with that maddening, yet, composed authoritative looks of him.
"Marla," he said, his tone edged with authority, "give me Chestnut."
I froze. "What? Why?"
"I need him for today’s race."
I glanced at Chestnut. The horse looked weak, exhausted. He didn’t have the strength for a race.
"Jason, he’s not—"
"I didn’t ask for your opinion," he said coldly, cutting me off. Without waiting for my consent, he took the reins and walked toward Shane.
"Watch me race," he said to her, his smile predatory.
Shane, of course, was all too eager. She laughed, leaning into him as though I didn’t exist.
I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. Jason’s disregard for me was undeniable. But as anger burned in my chest, I promised myself that one day, I’d find a way to escape him.
